Fourth Life
by the-tangoing-mango-addict
Summary: Buffy is resurrected AGAIN, far into the future, and is not happy. On top of everything else a war has been raging the past 17 years between humans and demons. What's worse, the humans are losing and old allies have become the enemy. What's left? R
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

Prologue:

I've died three times.

How many people can say that? You're right: not a lot of people.

About just a many who can say they've lived four lives.

And I, Buffy Summers am one of those few unfortunate people.

Why so unfortunate you ask:

Most people live once, twice if you're lucky. By your third life, you really must be something special, an anomaly that shouldn't exist. And I really wished I only lived twice.

Seriously, wasn't saving the world multiple times, then dying to save it again enough to get a good death's rest enough? Apparently not, if you're a slayer.

Before you ask (and I know you were going to, your mouth's open, the word 'what' on your lips): The slayer is a girl. Just a normal girl, nothing more. Nothing less. Well, except for the fact that she's endowed with incredible strength and skill to defeat the evils of this world. And I'm not talking about lowly criminals. The police deals with all that crap. No, the things I fight are true evil, creatures of the dark, demons, call them what you will, I battle them all for A to Z. Things most humans can't even begin to fathom.

How is this possible? You sure ask a lot of questions.

The answer is how I lived four lives:

Magic.

I used to think magic was a nifty tool. Useful. I'd go even as far to say that I liked it. But back then I was young and naïve and hadn't seen what it can do. Now I know I was wrong, it sucks. It tears your world down around you and then some. It controls you, makes you bend to the caster's will. It kills you. It brings back the long dead. It tore me out of a heavenly dimension: Twice.

You think that's 'cool'? Try again.

If you think fighting night in and night out, risking your life and limbs without a word of gratitude or thanks from anyone, while watching loved ones die and then dying yourself, in a most painful manner, then having to be resurrected into a world of hate and war to fight once more because of some stupid mojo is 'cool', that's your prerogative. But come back to me once you've experienced it. I guarantee you'll have a different opinion!

Sorry, that was kind of rant-y. Not my favorite subject to talk about if you can tell.

Anyway, needless to say after dying a third time I was done: a fully baked cookie (metaphor...never mind). I was fed up with this world; it's people, cruelty and everything else. I never wanted to be a part of it again. I had known barbarity and savagery at it's worst. Or so I thought.

I knew nothing until my fourth life.

My name is Buffy Summers and this is my story...

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A/n: Well, after a LONG hiatus, which I'm truly sorry about, by the way, I've decided to set a story in motion that I've had since last summer! Hope you like! Leave Reviews a plenty, they motivate,

Kali


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1:

_Waking up from being dead is a funny thing. You might have seen resurrections in films or in a TV show but the experience is glamorized for your viewing pleasure, as most things are in movies. But the real deal isn't pleasant or pretty and is most definitely not for the fainthearted. _

_At first you don't really perceive it to be real but there's a dead giveaway that lets you know you are no longer in heaven: The excruciating pain. It's much like having a million knives stabbed into your limbs and twisted while your life and soul are forced back into your rotting body. Once your conscious, you become acutely aware of what repairs your body is undergoing: Cells are regenerating themselves, crawling under your skin and pulling it taut, but it feels as though they might just burst through the new layer holding you together; Blood begins to flows through the opened dam in a rush; Joints and muscles begin to snap themselves together and all you want to do is scream, but you can't. Your lungs are repaired last of all the organs and with your first breath of your new life, you awake. Being brought back to life will most probably be the most painful experience of your first life, your first death and your second life. And it's not something you'll be able to erase from your mind. It's undoubtedly traumatic and most would need therapy but then there's the little problem of who would ever believe you. Normal people don't even know magic exists. _

_But the pain goes as quickly as it comes. I guess you can say that's an up side to the process. It doesn't change the fact that you're left in a state of confusion. You see, your memories still haven't quite been restored so you don't know who or where you are. It's extraordinarily disorientating and matters aren't really helped when you realize you six feet under. _

_This time around I didn't have the pleasure of digging out of my own grave. Someone had already done it for me. When I woke up I found myself shackled to the wall and had a curious young face peering up at me…_

"The process should be finished, Mick."

"She's got more skin now, but she still ain't moving. You sure it worked?" the man named Mick asked. Mick had a tall stature with broad shoulders and a muscular torso. He was clad in a heavy leather jacket and jeans, both of which had received many scuff marks and tears patchily sown back together suggesting that Mick had seen some rough times. His face may have once been handsome but was now gaunt and marred- one scar across his cheek was particularly prominent, deep and an angry red, as though it were still healing. In his hand he held a gun so steady, it was clear he was familiar with the trigger.

From his side a young girl stepped forward and walked around the blonde figure lying motionless on the floor.

"Well, she's breathing," she knelt down on her knees to get a closer look at the person's face, "See how her hair is kinda fluttering in front of her bocamond?" She tilted her head sideways and cautiously moved some strands of blonde hair out of the woman's face. "She sure is lindy."

"Kaylee, step away from her. We don't know what she might do when she wakes up. The diaries I found says she weren't any normal mordeness. She was an extremely powerful moordeness but a real rogue, out of control" Mick warned his daughter. She was young, no more than seventeen years of age. There was a strong familial resemblance between daughter and father. They both had sharp grey eyes and chestnut hair. Kaylee couldn't by any means be considered a beauty though: Her jaw was a little too strong for a young woman, the span of her cheeks slightly too wide but her features were undoubtably unique.

"Nah, that's what the counsel wrote and we don't put stock in what they-" she was cut off. A shaking hand clamped around Kaylee's neck with unnatural force. She gasped in surprise but found she had no breath. She struggled against the vice grip and finally, with a kick to the body of the hand, she escaped. Kaylee rubbed her afflicted neck, sure that the incident would leave bruises.

"Did I forget to mention she might be a bit disoriented and likely to strike out when she first wakes up?" the other woman in the room spoke in slightly patronizing fashion.

"No, Deliah, you didn't. That's why we chained her up in the first place, but some people just can't listen!" he growled and glared at his daughter. She felt as though she might shrink under his gaze.

"It's not like I can't protect myself! You know, endowed with mystical moorden powers and all," she argued in defiance.

"And I also know the powers have been diluted! Hers" he pointed to the figure now cowering and holding hands over her ears on the ground, "ain't. Next time listen!"

She didn't have a response to that. It was the truth after all, so she just nodded her head.

Mick turned his sight upon the blonde woman, who was now cautiously peering up at her captors and surroundings. Like a foal taking its first steps she carefully pulled herself up onto her legs and stood up. Her knees wobbled unfamiliar with the weight and her feet were pigeon-toed but she managed to steady herself at last. Blonde hair hung untamed in her face and her green eyes held a wild look. The woman looked past Mick and Deliah and right at Kaylee and her eyes softened. Tears leaked out of the corners of her eye as she mouthed an inaudible name under her breath. And then she collapsed to the floor again.

Kaylee rushed to the woman who had just held her in a chokehold and caught her just before knees hit cement. "It's okay," the young girl cooed to the woman. Gently she stroked her soft skin and held the stranger in her arms until she ceased to cry. Gone was the wild beast and all that was left was the shell of a broken, innocent woman "My name's Kaylee," she told the bleary eyed figure.

"B-Buffy," was all she could stammer

"I've read you're a slayer, like me, only more so. Around these parts we're called moordeness."

"Why did you bring me back!" Buffy said, with more strength in her voice, looking into the younger girl's eyes. Kaylee's words were ignored. The older slayer tore away from Kaylee's gentle hold and stood upright, this time with no difficulty. The slayer found a new energy within her: annoyance, anger and aggression.

"We need your help."

"I was dead. Dead three times over. You don't just bring people back as you please! Especially not with magic as dangerous as this! I've learned, that the problem with magic is that there are always consequences. ALWAYS!" she stressed.

"You don't understand-"

"No, you don't understand. I should be dead. Not alive. I don't want to be alive anymore. I lived my life twice longer than I should have."

Kaylee looked to the floor. She heard the pain in Buffy's voice and she was ashamed at what measures the Rebellion had to take but she knew the means to the end were necessary. She had to make Buffy understand the dire situation. In a quieter voice she explained herself, "The human race is dying out. The new regime has taken over. The world belongs to the demons and the moordeness are almost all dead." Finished, she looked up and met the other slayer's stare with a pleading expression. Buffy's jaw tensed, her visage devoid of any emotion. After a pregnant pause, the older slayer had made her decision.

"I'm not happy about the situation, but since I'm already here, I guess I'll have to kick a little undead, demon butt. What I don't understand is how this happened in the first place. Care to make with the explainy? And what is this new regime?"

A deep voice from the back of the room responded, "All in due time slayer-"

"Buffy, please. Slayer makes me sound so violent. And who are you, exactly?"

"Mick. Mick Jag."

A quiet laughing reverberated around the room. All eyes turned to Buffy who held a hand over her mouth trying to suppress her laughter. But her green eyes showed mirth.

"I'm sorry. It's just, your name is really Mick Jag? Okay, rock star."

Mick was not amused. "I don't understand. Why is my name so funny?"

"Seriously. You guys don't know who Mick Jagger is- famous rock star." Three blank faces stared at her. "Lead singer of the rolling stones. Oh, never mind."

"As I was saying, my name is Mick and this is Deliah. She's the heks who brought you back."

"A what now?" snided the slayer, or moordeness as they seemed to call her around here.

"You might know a heks better as a-" Kaylee paused to think, "a witch! Yes that's it. Deliah's a witch."

Buffy glared at the tall black haired woman standing next to Mick. A true femme fatal, she had a mysterious air about her, but her brown eyes held much pain and loss. Buffy recognized those eyes. She had stared into eyes such as hers for many years after her second resurrection.

"You had to tell her that," the woman grumbled. "If it's any consolation, I didn't have much of a choice in the matter."

"Yeah. Thanks."

"No prob."

Both women glared at each other, neither one willing to back down, both sizing each other up. Mick's deep voice was the thing to cut the tension in the room to shreds.

"Knock it off. We have a gorram underground war to bring to the surface. Now let's keep it spitz around here and get the basics out of the way, like clothes," Buffy suddenly became accutely aware of the fact that she was wearing nothing but a blanket that had shoddily been placed and pinned around her before she had been revived, "Then we'll sit down to 'splain the more important matters. I'll think I'll need to bring some alkol. It's better for all our kasentheid that way." Mick mumbled the last part under his breath so barely anyone could here it.

"Um, would love to come with, but kind of tied up here," Buffy pulled at her chains. They snapped and jangled as she struggled with them.

"Deliah."

With the wave of her hands and a few magic words, Deliah made the binds vanish into thin air. Buffy shook her head. Was history repeating its self? She feared they would vein-y Deliah going completely whack on their hands if the witch didn't learn to restrain her use of magic. Buffy made a note to herself to have a talk to the woman as she was shoved along down a damp hallway by Kaylee.

A/N: Most of you must be thinking- eh, what the hell. There are a bunch of words in here that don't even exist. It's the rebellion's slang, one could call it. In my mind this is part of characterization and is meant for differentiation between people Buffy knows/memories and the future underground civilization. I hope there were enough context clues for most people to understand what the words meant, but if not I've made a nifty little guide for you guys:

Alkol- alcohol

Bocamond- mouth

Gorram- equivilant of damn

Heks- witch

Kasentheid- sanity

Keep it spitz- stay focused

Lindy- pretty

Moordeness- slayer

Anyways, please tell me what you think thus far by reviewing. Do you like the slang- should there be more or less? Tell me your opinion in a review! They help motivate and improve my writing.


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